


Bilbo Baggins: Frying Pan Wielder

by WeStandHereUnited



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: Games involving orc heads, Gen, Hobbits are dangerous with frying Pans, Tangled references, The people of Middle-earth take up their silverware
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-07
Updated: 2013-05-13
Packaged: 2017-12-04 14:27:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/711741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeStandHereUnited/pseuds/WeStandHereUnited
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo Baggins was about as frightening as a baby rabbit, that was to say: not at all. Or at least, that is what Thorin Oakenshield had thought up until that night... The dwarf had worried before over how the hobbit would fare when they reached the mountain, now he wasn't sure who he should fear more for: the burglar or the dragon.  Turns out hobbits are dangerous creatures, especially when they get their hands on frying pans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The first frying pan wielder

**Author's Note:**

> You may notice Tangled references here and there :)

Thorin Oakenshield had, up until relatively recently, doubted the the reliability of Bilbo Baggins. 

In his defence the hobbit had been rather useless: he could not fight and all he seemed to care about was keeping mud off his waistcoat. At the beginning of their journey Bilbo knew nothing of the world outside his doorstep, having lived his life of comfort with his tea cups and his mothers plates for company. 

However, Bilbo had since proved his worth many times over. He had saved Thorin's life during the fight against Azog the Defiler, but perhaps more importantly in Thorin's eyes, he had come back to them. Bilbo had the chance to sneek away, he could have left and gone back to his hobbit-hole if he had wished. Instead, he had returned. Loyalty -that was something the dwarf king valued above all else.

Bilbo had definitely improved in confidence over the past weeks since the fight. He joined in conversation more often, and barely flinched when the howls of wargs and the cries of orcs cut through the silence of the night.

The hobbit was still gentle and quiet though, and about as threatening as a baby rabbit: he was the last person in the company that the leader thought he could ever be scared of. 

Thorin had often found himself wrong of late... 

It was one evening as they had made camp that it had happened. They had travelled quite a way from the mountains where they had encountered the goblins, but had not yet drawn close to Mirkwood. 

Since Azog they had faced no enemies, and maybe this had lulled them too deeply into a sense of security. They had been foolish. The group had sat together around the fire, Bofur and Bilbo assisting Bombur with the cooking. Their weapons had been left scattered about the camp with their packs. They had been unarmed.

None of them had seen the attack coming, the first they knew of it was when four orcs had rushed from the bushes, baring down on Bilbo and a defenceless Nori, who was closest to the direction from which they had come. They had no time to act, just to shout out in horror.

Nori had raised his arms above his head in a futile attempt to protect himself from the swing of sharp metal...but the pain had never come. When he had looked up the orc that had been about to deal the death blow was unconscious, and Bilbo was no longer holding a ladle. 

That night Thorin Oakenshield had felt fear, not because of the orcs, but due to the sheer brutality by which the hobbit took down the remaining beasts with the frying pan that he had been holding in this other hand. The heir of Durin could only stare in morbid fascination as Bilbo had proceed to beat the last of the vile creatures rather viciously over the head, and had, when he was absolutely sure the thing was not getting up again, given his unconventional weapon an inspecting look. The sort of look you would give a fork that had not been washed properly. 

“Orc blood, bet it tastes disgusting.” The halfing had muttered as he wiped the black substance off onto the grass.

As it turned out, Bilbo took up his frying pan rather regularly from that day on when they ran into trouble. Thorin did his utmost best to keep in Bilbo's good books for fear of beginning on the wrong end of it.

The hobbit actually became quite famous for his use of his frying pan in the battle for Erebor, going down in dwarven history books as 'the wielder of the steel pan'.

Stories where told to little dwarf children for many generations about the hobbit-warrior's skills in battle, and he was often used as a way of ensuring best behaviour. 'If you're not good, Mr Baggins will come and hit you with his frying pan, you mark my words, young sir.' 

It was a great shame that none of these stories ever reached the Shire. 

As chance would have it however, many years after Bilbo had first taken up arms, another hobbit picked up the pan. His name was Samwise Gamgee: the second great frying pan wielder to come from the little forgotten town of Hobbiton. 

“Hey! I think I'm getting the hang of this! Useful things, frying pans!” 

Gimli son of Gloin would watch as this new warrior took up Bilbo's legacy and recall the words spoken to him when he had been young and disobedient.

By Aule, his father had been telling the truth! Oh, how he regretted now tripping the elf into that river when no one else had been watching!

“Bless my soul, get me out of here!”


	2. Battle of the Five Armies

Thorin Oakenshield did not know what he had been thinking when he sent Bilbo away. In all rights the hobbit should have hit him, cursed him even, said be damned with the quest and Erebor too. 

But he hadn't, he had left quietly, and with such an sad look on his face that the dwarf-king had had the urge to kick whoever it was who had upset the halfling so. Oh yes...it had been him, hadn't it?

Maybe, Thorin thought fleetingly, maybe all the gold and gems were not worth so much. What did the arkenstone really mean to him anyway? It was the heirloom of his family, yes, but it had also driven his grandfather mad... “Not exactly a keep-sake that brought up good memories...” 

The leader almost jumped when he realised he had been talking to himself.

“Aule! It has driven me crazy too, hasn't it?” The dwarf pulled at his hair. His nephew's voices played mockingly in his head: First sign of madness... Second sign is hairs on the palms of your hands... Third sign is- “No!”

He shook himself. He would not look!

But he knew he must be at least somewhat insane, what if he never saw the hobbit again? What if he were to die, with his last words to Bilbo being what they were? Oh, he was a stupid dwarf if ever there was one. He just lost his burglar, and he had no one to blame but himself.

If any one of the company witnessed their leader standing in the middle of an empty corridor swearing to himself, they said nothing of it. They were much too worried about the upcoming battle, for at this point one it seemed inevitable.

And, of course, what is seems inevitable, usually happens. Unless you are in a story, that is. If that is so, then it is most probable things will end up swinging the other way, and in which case, you should forget all about what would realistically come to pass, for if you don't you will generally find yourself questioning all reason.

It was a bloody battle: men, elves, thirteen dwarves, a wizard, a hobbit, and a rather ambitious goat (which everybody later confessed they did not know from whence it had came, and that they had all thought it with somebody else), against the vicious orcs and wargs.

The company caught glimpses of Mr Baggins between taller folk, and rejoiced in the idea that maybe he did not hate them so afterall. Thorin hoped neither of them would meet their ends that day. 

The king under the mountain fought hard, dispatching the foul creatures with impressive speed. The other members of his company seemed to be fairing as well as could be hoped: the only fatality so far being Bofur's hat – a loss that the poor dwarf had taken very badly indeed. There would be a funeral held later in its honour. Such a brave, strong hat, for it to meet its end here and been a most horrid shock. 

As the leader cleaved the head off yet another orc though, he saw something that made him pause in his onslaught. 

“Azog.”

The pale orc grinned a terrible grin at his prey. Bearing down with his immense height, he laughed. (If you could call it that.)

“Why, the last of Durin's line, what a funny coincidence of events that we should meet.” It wasn't like the orc had been searching for Thorin or anything. “Well, king, it seems you have your mountain back, after all this time. It is only a shame you will not return to it again, a great shame indeed.”

“You seem to be missing one hand, you would look much more even without the other, would you not?” The dwarf glared at his sworn enemy with hatred before raising his sword in challenge. 

Their fight was not a long one, and disapointingly Azog's remaining arm stayed intact. The dwarf did manage to deliver a few blows, and the gundabad orc lay surprisingly few. It was a shame that Azog's achieved more. Thorin found his sword knock from his grip. He cursed when it landed in a warg a few metres away - he always seemed to lose his weapons. The fates must hate him. 'Make all the excuses you want, brother, but the fact remains you lose your head were it not attached to your neck. Anything you wish to stay in possession of you should keep tied to you with a good bit of string. '

His thought sister's past words to him rather morbid right then, considering the circumstances. 

“Ah! You make such a effort to appear courageous, Thorin Oakenshield. But I smell the fear on you. The smell that was on your father and his father too, before I killed them. You feel it, don't you? This is where your tale finishes. This is where I-”

Thwang!

Azog hit the floor. 

“He sure does talk a lot, doesn't he?”

The dwarf king stared at the hobbit in stunned silence, mindless of the fighting going on round him.

“Never did take to people who liked the sound of their own voice.”

Thorin almost choked when Bilbo thrust a spare frying pan into his hand. 

“Shoulders back, arms bent, feet apart...” The burglar muttered as he poked the dwarf into a fighting stance new to him.

All Thorin could do was his best fish impersonation as the hobbit made his inspection. Bilbo ran his eyes up and down critically. “Hmmm...we'll have to work on it.”

“No time to be picky now though.” The hobbit pushed the king towards another orc. 

“Just remember,” he called. “It's all in the swing!”

“R-right...All in the swing.”

Later, when the battle was over and everyone was thankfully alive and as miraculously relatively uninjured, Dwalin would take the time to wander across the quiet battle field. The dwarf would not admit that he had been unable to stand the distress and tears that were being shed over Bofur's hat. He was a strong dwarf, but it had just been too much to bear. He would not cry in front of the others at least, he preferred to do his mourning in private thank you very much.

He caught sight of the another dwarf who had chosen to leave the rest, and walked over to stand by Thorin's side.

His king barely acknowledged his presence, and Dwalin followed his gaze down to the dead body of the pale orc.

“By Aule...!” Dwalin's eyes widened at the large dent in the foul creatures skull.

“I know.” Thorin finally raised his head to look at his friend. “Frying pans, who knew, right?”


	3. The Great Games of 2941

Once the battle was over, and the men and elves were for at least some while too busy to come after Erebor's gold, there was very little for the company to do but wait for Dain to show up. When he and his army got there the efforts to start cleaning up Erebor could begin, but until he did no member of the group felt the need to do any cleaning themselves. In their opinion they had done enough work, and it was time somebody else did some for a change. Most days the entire of the company gathered on the grassy fields at Erebor's gates, all except Bofur that was.

Bofur had been acting very...well, very off lately. He could often be found in corners muttering darkly to himself and sharpening his sausage fork, or else crying his eyes out over the death of his old hat. All of the company missed the hat, but they were starting to think Bofur was perhaps a tad obsessive.

It was still alive, he told them, the orc that did such a terrible thing. He remembered well its face, and its body was nowhere on the battle field. It was out there somewhere.

The company did know how he was so sure of this...unless he had checked the entire battle field of dead orcs, and if that was so, they found they did not want to know, so never asked.

Anyway, the fact remained that this was not normal Bofur behavior at all. Sweet, kind, smiling Bofur, so intent on revenge? Picking through bodies in search? Disappearing for hours on end, only to return with a glint in his eye, crazier and madder than before? It was all quite disconcerting.

The company treated him much the same as you would a sad little kitten which may or may not have rabies: keep an eye on him, make sure he eats, give words of comfort, but do not get within arm's length.

Still, minus the Bofur problem, life was quiet. Bilbo started to teach Thorin how to fight properly with a pan, and soon after Fili, Kili and Ori also joined in on the lessons. They were all naturals, Mr Baggins told them, at being inferior in skill to him.

The lessons proved to be of some entertainment to the rest of the company though, and they would gather on the grass to watch. They had a lot of gold now, and so it was good to have something to bet it away on.

"That's enough for now." Bilbo dismissed his pupils for a break late one morning. The three conscious ones dropped their pans and made to sit with the others, and Kili was rolled half way from his place before his brother gave up and left him where he was. Sometimes Fili would doubt Bilbo's teaching methods, then something like this would happen to Kili and his faith would be restored. Ah yes, he enjoyed this. Never had he been able to hit his younger sibling without being scolded by someone for it, usually his mother.

"So," Fili said as he joined the others. "What now?"

No one had a good answer.

Bilbo frowned in thought. "Well, my ancestor, Old Took's great-granduncle Bullroarer-"

"Nobody cares, Bilbo." Thorin flopped to the ground. He knew it was not befitting of royalty but he was feeling rather dramatic: he was not used to being bored, it was a new thing to him. The king nudged Dwalin with his foot. "Do something to amuse me."

The stony dwarf looked up from his daisy chain for a second. "No."

"...Oh."

"-He was so huge that he could ride a horse-" Bilbo started again, getting a loud groan from every member of the company.

"We don't want to know-!" Nori got a blow to the stomach with the flat side of a pan.

"Well you should!" Bilbo huffed, ignoring the dwarf's wail of pain. "It's all true! The goblin's head, the rabbit hole, golf! All of it!"

"Golf!" Kili had woken up. "I've never played golf! Teach me Bilbo, please!"

The rest of the company thought for a while. It would be something to do.

"Haven't had a good game of golf in a long time, actually. Would be nice." Gloin admitted gruffly.

"I'll play." Dori decided. "I used to be pretty good."

"What would we use for balls? I don't believe we have any." Bombur asked doubtfully, he had never had any great talent for the sport.

"We have lots of goblin heads, though." Thorin sat up. "It would be good to keep close to the original idea. Game spirit."

Anything. Anything but boredom.

"But clubs?" Bombur questioned. "What about clubs?"

"The camp where the men were staying had lots of frying pans." Bilbo answered. "I nicked a load of them last time I was there and stashed them. There should be enough for one each."

"So we play then!" Balin squeaked with joy. "There's a nice field further down the mountain. Quite infested with rabbits, it is."

 

An hour later saw a sight, that was for sure.

Only Balin and Dori had really made it anywhere with the game. They were on their seventh hole actually, and the two of them were doing pretty well. The same could not be said for the others.

Kili and Fili had been out of the game from the first hit.

"FORE!" Kili had yelled, and smacked his goblin head hard with all his might. The head had not taken the course he had wanted though, and had hit his brother. The two of them were still fighting.

Bombur had a hard time even to hit his orc head, and was struggling at the first hole. Nori and Ori had been doing ok, but were held up by Dwalin, who had his head stuck in the third hole and was finding it to be proving difficult to remove. Bofur was missing of course, and Bifur was hitting his head in the opposite direction to everybody else. Where he thought he was going nobody knew.

Thorin and Bilbo had apparently given up, and were hitting their heads randomly, commenting on each other's shots. 'I say, that was rather excellent! Do you think you could hit it into that cart the man down there is pulling? Oh! Not quite! My goodness, do you think he's ok? Fine, I'm sure, just a bit stunned he looks to me... I think you killed him! ...We never speak of this. Agreed.'

Gloin had been enjoying the game, regardless of what was going on around him. But that was until a rabbit had stolen his orc head. "Come back here! You filthy little- I thought rabbits were supposed to be vegetarian!"

Oin only watched in worry as his brother ran around the field, tripping over rabbit holes as he went. "Oh dear me..."

It was at around this point in time that Bofur made his appearance, springing from a bush and giving poor Bombur quite a shock. He had been gone all the night before, and was a mess: trailing mud and branches everywhere. That was not what upset Bombur though, it was the orc head he had stuck on his sausage fork. "I got him, brother! Look!"

"Bofur! That's inhumane!" Never mind the fact they had both killed loads of orcs in their time, and that he himself was playing a game that involved the hitting of severed heads into rabbit holes. Bofur just wasn't one of act so...so...-

"Inhumane? I did not know this orc was well known!" Bofur ran off in the direction of the gates. "Oh my hat, I have avenged you! I have disposed of your murderer, the great goblin: Inhumane! You may rest in peace now!"

The company didn't play golf again after that, though they did invent a few new games: like football, and bowling. When Dain finally arrived he would wonder at how so many goblin heads had spread around, some very far away indeed from the battle field. He would even hear one man's story of the day an orc head fell from the sky and knocked him out cold, showed him the scar he got from it too, but he never believed it. Raining orc heads? What a ridiculous idea!


	4. Blunt the Knives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit back in time from the others :)

"Now look here!" Bilbo really was in quite a state. Who wouldn't be? He had had his house overrun by dwarves. They had tread mud into his carpet and raided his pantry, now they had the gall to start throwing around his cutlery.

Bilbo made a grab for a bowl that sailed past his left ear, but failed to capture the flying item.

"That's what Bilbo Baggins hates! So, carefully! Carefully with the plates!"

They roared with laughter, enjoying Bilbo's look of shock that everything was still in one piece. Even Gandalf chuckled, the traitor.

Bilbo straightened indignantly. "Those plates are over one hundred years old!"

He glared at the dwarves until they all shut up.

"We wouldn't have dropped them, Mr Boggins." Kili, was it? The dwarf which had scraped mud on his mother's gory box.

"They were family airlooms!" Those plates belonged to his grandmother! Rotten woman...

The young dwarf shrunk slightly. He eyed the pile of plates for a while. "'Tis a shame though, that they are so important, I mean. They look like a good sort of plate, the kind you would want to smash for a bit of fun."

Bilbo was about to snap again, but then realised that the dwarf was right. He'd never noticed it before, but those plates did look rather...smashable. "Yes...I suppose it is a shame."

The rest of the company nodded in agreement and a long silence prevailed.

Bilbo thought for a minute. The plates called to him irresistibly. "...I think that prehaps it would be ok, ...just one or two."

 

Thorin Oakenshield had gotten lost, as he was rather prone to doing as a matter of fact. But never mind, he had found the right door in the end. Standing there he took a moment to think of an excuse for his tardiness.

The dwarf king knocked.

He knocked again.

In fact, he was about to knock for a third time when the door finally opened. He was greeted with such a sight he would have never imagined to see.

He did his utmost not to step on the shards of china that littered the hallway.

"Ah, Bilbo, let me introduce to you Thorin Oakenshield, leader of our company." Gandalf spoke with laughter.

"Oh!" The hobbit Thorin assumed was their new burglar appeared in front of him. "It is a great honour, my good sir!"

"I'm afraid any food will be served on the table, literally. And drink is quite out of the question, unless you do not mind it in a flower vase, or else having it straight from the barrel?"

"I-" Thorin stuttered. "I'll be fine, thanks. Not really thirsty."

"Oh." The hobbit nodded.

"In that case," He held out the violet coloured flower base he had in his hands. "You have the privilege of destroying the last breakable object in my entire hobbit-hole."


	5. Council of Elrond

"You have only one choice: the ring must be destroyed."

"Then what are we waiting for?"

Frodo Baggins winced as the dwarf brought down his axe on the stone podium, smashing the blade on the thin piece of gold that lay there.

"The ring of power cannot be destroyed, Gimli son of Gloin, by any craft which we who sit here possess."

"Then what is to be done?"

Lord Elrond did not answer Boromir's question, but sent a nod at one of the older dwarves seated in the circle. Gloin – unless Frodo was mistaken. The dwarf rose and walked off. Frodo frowned in confusion. What was that all about?

He was just about to voice this question to Gandalf when the dwarf returned with- "Uncle!"

"Hello, my dear boy!" The old hobbit hobbled to the gathering. "What a scrape we have gotten into here, dark ring from mordor and what not."

Lord Elrond and Gandalf got to their feet and made their way to stand by Bilbo's side as he eyed the ring.

"Well? What do you think?" Elrond asked hesitantly.

"Can you do it?" Gandalf wondered, a nervous expression flitting over his face.

Bilbo took a moments consideration. "Only one way to find out for sure."

Smack!

…

"Well that's that, I suppose." Gandalf was first to break the silence, clearing his throat. "Now, you said something about some very fine wine Lord Elrond..."

Frodo stared, completely dumb-struck. It was over, just like that! All that hassle: weeks of travel, being cold, hungry, chased and stabbed by nazgul, and all it took to get rid of that damned ring was his uncle and his frying pan? Life hated him.

"We came all this way just to see that?"

Gloin shook his head at his son. "If it hadn't of worked we would have had to find a different solution. Besides, you came all this way for the ring, I came here for Mr Bilbo's cooking."

Bilbo's cooking was good, afterall.

"I have got to get myself one of those frying pans." Aragorn murmured to himself before sneaking off, probably to find Arwen.

A number of the congregation wandered away, the threat to Middle-earth being over and all.

"Shame," Bilbo gazed at the now deformed ring. "It was a good, useful sort of thing when I had it. Was it not, Gloin?"

"That it was." The dwarf nodded in agreement. "Without it that to do with the goat and thee orc heads wouldn't have ended so fortunately."

"...We spent two nights on a roof."

"Ah, yes." Gloin frowned as he tried to think of another example. "But without the ring we would have never escaped that barmaid after she found out we hadn't enough to pay for all those drinks."

"No, she let us go because we gave them Thorin instead, remember?"

"Oh. Well, it always looked pretty even if it did nothing, very shiny it was."

"Good Lord!" Boromir cried before rushing away. He looked positively scandalised at the idea of trade anyone, let alone ones king, for ale.

 

A year later saw Legolas, Gimli, Aragorn and Boromir in Rohan. It was a lovely place, they agreed. Nice pubs.

They had been joined that night by lady Eowyn and her brother Eomer, and all six of them had had rather a lot to drink. Suffice to say, the bill was not small.

"Well laddie, do we have the money?" A stumbling Gimli asked Legolas, who, as the most sober of all of them, had been given the task of doing the counting.

"No. Errm, wait...No."

"Then what do we do?" Eowyn wailed loudly. All of them had long forgotten that with their high standing, they didn't really need to pay anything if they chose not to.

The shield-maiden's eyes, along with Legolas' and Gimli's fell on Aragorn and Eomer. Neither of them could hold their liquor. Neither of them even seemed aware of where they were: the two would not be able to run if it came down to it.

"Hey! Anybody want a king?"

"What!?" Boromir was left standing with the two poor men as his companions rushed out of the door. "You can't do that!"

He kept his place for a minute before his resolve snapped. "Oh, never mind."


	6. Battle of Helms Deep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is forgetting the last chapter ever happened :)

Gimli son of Gloin was not faint hearted. He would go up against unspeakable odds in a fight without wavering: no, it took a lot to shake this dwarf.

Yet Samwise Gamgee had done. Very much so.

Gimli's mother had often gotten mad at his father when he was a young dwarfling for telling him stories 'not fit for one of so little years'. Gimli hadn't cared; he actually liked his father's tales of great battles, monstrous trolls and vicious orcs. Even the ones about the dragon had not disturbed his sleep. But there was one. One story which truly did cause fear to course through his veins. The one about Bilbo Baggins, the wielder of the steel pan. The hobbit warrior that would come and hit naughty little dwarflings when they misbehaved. The hobbit who lived under beds and snuck about the house at night when everyone was asleep.

When he grew up he dismissed the story. He would check beneath his bed every night, but that was to make sure no rats had gotten in, of course. His father had just been trying to scare him so he would be good, and when he was young it had worked, but he would no longer be victim of that fear.

Or at least that's what he kept saying to himself throughout their journey while casting hidden glances at the blonde hobbit. Every time the halfling went for his pan to cook breakfast Gimli would flinch. He would have to be careful to stay on the hobbit's good side.

He still didn't believe his father, no. That would be silly of him at his age...but it was always better to be safe than sorry, was it not? Bilbo Baggins was a real person, he knew that: a hobbit which most certainly did not hide under his bed...besides, he had a roll mat now. He'd like to see a hobbit go unnoticed under that! Still, as a real person Bilbo Baggins had owned a frying pan, and had used it in battle. There was always the chance that he had taught other hobbits the art as well...

…Just keep your distance, no sudden movements. Don't provoke them.

As it turned out the hobbits ended up splitting from the group rather soon, and though Gimli feared for the little ones safety, he did feel a sense of relief that he no longer had to worry about the frying pan. This would be a mistake on his part. There were other ways, aside from hitting with frying pans, by which kitchen objects could do harm, and then of course there was the actual food itself.

 

Lady Eowyn was a very nice woman indeed, and Gimli had enjoyed telling her about his kin and making her laugh. He could see why her people loved her so, he himself became quite taken by her.

She did her best to take care of her subjects in these dark times, why look-! She had even cooked for them! How kind!

Gimli accepted a bowl graciously and raised his spoon to his mouth, unsuspecting. Aragorn over there had emptied his bowl already, it must be good!

The dwarf was quick to spit the stuff out. "Aule, that's foul!" That was food!?

Thank goodness the woman was out of ear shot. He looked over at Aragorn, who was watching him in silence. The man motioned with his empty bowl, acting out pouring the soup on the ground. Gimli followed this action with his own full bowl.

He glanced around to check that the shield-maiden had not noticed.

It appeared the elf had also received a bowl. He was sniffing it suspiciously.

"Eat up lad! It's mighty good!"

 

The battle for Helms Deep had been a long hard one, and it was far from over. Here they were: trapped, trying desperately to keep the orcs on the other side of the door.

"Is there another way for the women and children to get out of the caves?"

The men fought to barricade the door, while the elf shot arrows though gaps to take out as many of the beasts as possible in order to slow their onslaught.

"Yes, but they will not get far, the orcs are too many."

"We must try to-" Aragorn's attention was distracted. "Legolas! What are you doing? Shoot something!"

"I've run out of arrows!"

Gimli froze. What? "What do you mean 'you've run out of arrows'?"

Was that even possible?

The elf all but wailed. "What do you think I mean? That the stone work in here is rather nice in this light!?"

Aragorn shook himself out of his shock.

"They don't grow back!?" He cried, stunned.

"Of course not!"

This revelation seemed to completely dumbfound the ranger.

King Theoden appeared most able to think straight at that moment. "I'm sure there is something you could use instead...Ahah! Gamli! The silverware!"

Seeing the elf shoot orcs with forks was perhaps the second most terrifying thing Gimli ever experienced. But still, he grew to trust the elf enough that he no longer feared him coming after him with clutlery, and he and the elf actually became very close companions: a kin to brothers even.

The first most terrifying thing he ever experienced was the day he and his elvish friend crossed the sea to the grey havens, because, low and behold, there waiting on the shore with his friends and family, standing with Fili and Kili and their uncle, King Thorin: a hobbit, with golden hair and lovely brass buttons, a fine purple waistcoat, and carrying in one hand-

Gimli's scream was less than befitting for a strong dwarfish warrior.

"I've changed my mind, Legolas! Take me back! Take me back!"


	7. Riddles in the Dark

Bilbo Baggins had himself in quite a pickle, and he would be the first to admit that. Stuck in a dark, damp, gloomy cave under a mountain with a creature that he had just come to suspect was completely insane.

It had spoken of eating him. It had spoken to itself of eating him. It had smelt him and had continued to speak to itself of eating him.

Bilbo was not ignorant of the fact that he was in desperate need of a bath. He gave his waistcoat sleeve a sniff before turning back to the creature grimly. Oh yes, he was beginning to think this being had a few problems, if not with its mind then with its nose.

He shook his head. Never mind that though, he had bigger problems to consider. Like, how was he going to get out? Left passageway, right passageway, the one in the middle? Bilbo frowned. He stalked up to the first and gave the air a sniff. If in doubt, always follow your nose. The second...the third...Damn that wizard! They all smelt the same, equally as foul!

Hmm...not the middle one...left or right...

"We like to play precious, don't we? Yes we does!"

Play? Seriously? 

The creature's voice was beggining to annoy him.

"Will it play precious? Will it? Will it?"

Go away you irritating little-

"Fine. I'll play. A game of riddles. Here, what's heavy and metal and turns the world black?"

The creature stopped jumping up and down -thank goodness- and began to think.

Bilbo tapped at the wall of one of the passages with his frying pan and gave the air another sniff, peering into the darkness in hope of catching some glimpse of light at the end of it.

"Heavy...metal, turns world black..." The creature rocked back and forth on its heels and muttered as it thought.

He raised an eyebrow as he moved to inspect the next passage for a second time. "Give up?"

"Give us a minute!" It scrunched up its face. "Think precious! Think!"

Bilbo walked back over to stand in front of the creature.

"Give up now?" He asked, failing to keep the aggravation from his voice.

"No!...Heavy, metal-"

Thwang!

"-And turns the world black."

Bilbo nodded to himself as he turned away, tucking his frying pan safely back into its place at his belt. Damn, that thing had been annoying. Its eyes and its skin and its teeth and- Bilbo gave a shudder -its fingernails. Eww. 

Thing of nightmares it was, the sort of creature he used to check for every night under his bed. The type of thing his father said he might walk into if he went too far into the woods in order to keep him from wandering off.

He shook his head and looked between the passages.

"Onwards! Left it is!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is marked as complete, but if anyone has any ideas for new chapters I may do more :)


	8. What Dain Saw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Should probably read the first four chapters again, this might make a bit of sense then...then again it might not

The first hint Dain got that his cousin's company was mad was the night they gathered for dinner together. Things had started out normal enough, conversation had been good and the food even better to a hungry stomach.

Then he had, laughing, brought up the odd man he had run into when he had first arrived. The one who had told him the story of the day an orc head had fallen from the sky. Out of nowhere it had come, he had said, and stuck him right there on the top of his forehead, hours later he had awoken, with a nasty scar which he showed to Dain as proof of his tale.

'Men!' Dain had chuckled. 'Quite strange the lot of them! Orcs heads dropping from the sky! Whatever next!'

He had noticed Thorin lean over to speak to the hobbit, heard the mumbled 'See, he lived' and the reply 'No harm done then', but he had continued talking anyway.

'Raining orc heads! That would be it! One could believe it with the way the things seem to have scatter everywhere!'

For some reason they had all found this unbelievably amusing, and had laughed and laughed, some rather hysterically, and had shared conspiratory glances. He thought he heard Gloin blaming rabbits.

That was when he had first suspected them all a bit cracked. Orc heads were not that funny, were they? He had meant to be entertaining, get a grin and a bark of laughter maybe, but this reaction was more than he had expected. He felt as if he were being left out of something...But what?

...Would he regret asking?

In the end he didn't find the nerve, and made some fairly dull comments on the weather. He did watch the company a bit closer after that though.

The first member of the company he officially decided was completely bonkers was Bifur. This was no big surprise to him at all for all he had heard of the dwarf. He had seen Bifur, walking happily outside one day, humming to himself, and bending down to pick a flower. It was a rather lovely flower, and the dwarf had seemed to think so too. He had held it tenderly, smelt it and admired it...and then he had eaten it, and carried on his merry way. Again, finding this dwarf mad was no surprise.

The second dwarf he found out was a surprise though: perhaps the last member of the company he would have thought. Dori was a very proper dwarf. He was always immaculate in dress and hair, and was exceedingly polite. Dori was the strongest dwarf there was, the company claimed, but he hardly seemed the type. He liked his tea and he liked order and fine manners and that was that. Dain wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes. They had been walking by the edge of the woods, on their way back from a meeting with some elves, when a lone orc had jumped from the bushes. A survivor of the battle most definitely, with nowhere to go. It had not lived long. All those present had learned that day that it was not wise to sneak up on Dori, and Dain had stared at the dwarf with wide eyes for some time: the dwarf who had killed an orc with his bare hands on the grounds that it had 'startled him.'

...Dori's brother Ori was surely harmless though. Young and bookish, a good sort of lad, liked his knitting. ...Dain had seen some men take a book off him one day. He was careful not to anger the scribe from then on. The word 'vicious' could not describe, and the amount of damage he had been able to do with that quill...best to keep on the lad's good side.

Fili was next to join his list of insane. Dain quickly noted that he enjoyed causing his brother insubstantial harm. Whether it be tripping his younger sibling down the stairs, hitting him over the head when Kili said something stupid, or tying him to a tree and leaving him there all night 'to see what elves he would attract', Fili was altogether too willing to be his brother's tormentor, and much too quick to laugh afterwards. It was as if he had never had chance to do such things as a child. It was...worrying.

Balin was wise and clever and Dain held him in the utmost respect. They had been surveying the battle field when the old dwarf had stopped, stuped down, picked up an orc's head and stuffed it in his pack. At Dain's questioning look he had supplied, 'Can't pass up a good one. Nice and round this one, see?' Dain could see. 'If you get one that's too misshaped they veer off course.' Balin had chuckled as he walked on. 'I'll think I'll be winning tomorrow. Dori's best head always goes slightly to the right.' Dain was left behind as he stood and gaped like a fish.

Dain knew Gloin's wife well, she had been a friend of his when they were but dwarflings. She was of the sensible, strong willed sort, and Dain had always believed her husband was not dissimilar. For a while after meeting him he had seemed to be correct: the dwarf was not the brightest there was, but he appeared sensible enough. ...Until he had frozen one day, eyes set on a furry brown little creature not far from where the company surveyed the land about the mountain. 'Brother, that's it.' He had insisted in a loud whisper. 'That's the one that took it...' And then he had given chase after the poor rabbit. 'Get back here you little carnivorous freak of nature! I haven't forgotten!'

One of the group Dain found he enjoyed the company of most was Bofur. The miner, though perhaps lower in class than those Dain was used to spending any length of time around, was good for conversation: he had a quick wit, knew plenty of jokes, and had many tales to tell. He could sing and dance and play music, and naturally possessed one of those likeable personalities that let no one speak a word ill of him. You just had to watch your mouth, Dain soon learnt, because if you spoke the word 'hat', or sometimes even a rhyming word such as 'bat' or 'mat', you'd better be ready to lend a shoulder for the dwarf to sob hysterically onto, and be prepared to do a lot of shrugging as others sent questioning looks your way.

Kili was a good youngster, why- the last time Dain had seen him he'd been barely walking, how he had grown since then! Kili always had too much energy: he didn't walk -he ran, he didn't talk -he yelled, and he didn't go down and stay down when he fell -he bounced back. This turned out to be a very good thing, with all that his elder brother threw at him every day. But there were times when the energy became overloaded. Times when the dwarf had eaten things containing sugar. Then he really did bounce, in the literal sense -off walls and over tables and out of doorways when it was dark to give you a bloody heart attack. The things he did and said while in one of those states...well, if Dain didn't call that mad then he didn't know what was. Kili on sugar, the only thing worse was his evil pet goat. Dain shuddered. The stuff of nightmares.

The Goat,the very same goat that had fought for them in the Battle of the Five Armies. The evil goat with a crazy glint in its eye that no one else but Dain seemed to see. The creature scared him, but none of the company appeared the least bit bothered by it.

Bombur was a gentle soul...most of the time. The kind, friendly, smiley, fat cook who ate too much of what he made. Wouldn't hurt a fly, Dain had thought at first, unless he sat on one by on however, after seeing that a number of the company members he had previously classed as normal were in fact insane, he began to have his reservations...what if the cook was as mad as them too? He observed nothing out of the ordinary for quite some time. Then he had witnessed what became of those who touched the dwarf's food. Note to self: Never. Touch. The food.

Dain became fond of Nori, which was a surprise considering. Nori was a thief, and he wouldn't deny it. A no-good outlaw with his sharp knives and quick fingers and in-and-out-of-the-window before you even knew he was there. He was good at his 'trade', one of the best, he was fast and clever and could scale a wall just as soon as he could sneak the pipe weed from your side pocket. Now he was working for Thorin as spymaster of Erebor, building an intelligence network in the shadows as only one who knew them like he did could. He was quick minded, and so Dain found he was good for conversation when the denseness of other dwarves became just too much to stand and one needed to be in the presence of someone with a head on his shoulders. Nori was careful, as one had to be in his profession, never drawing too much attention to himself and never getting into unnecessary danger (there was plenty of necessary danger to go around, thank you very much)...which was why Dain wondered at his rather suicidal tendency to blatantly steal from one of the most dangerous dwarves in the company. 'The thrill of the chase, my dwarf, it's something you can come to miss'. Dain had watched Nori get to his feet as Dwalin's roar of 'Thief!' echoed through the hall, twirling a stolen pipe between his fingers. 'Now you will excuse me, I have to run.' The dwarf headed down the corridor, and Dain could have sworn he heard the thief laugh, 'He catches me, he'll bloody kill me!' ...Suicidal. Yes. Quite mad.

Dwalin. Normal enough. ...Please let him be normal. Ah yes, what a nice thing to do: entertaining the dwarflings that had recently arrived from Ered Luin. What was he teaching them, Dain wondered. He'd take a look, why not? ...'Grip it like this- see? No-' '-Why, Mr Dwalin, what are you teaching the little ones this find day? Weapons training of a sort-?' '-Bowling!' A voice piped up. Nori. Not dead yet it seemed. 'Bowling? I've never heard of it. What does it entail?' he asked Dwalin, and the warrior said he'd show him. Dain had almost died of shock when an orc head was shoved into his hands. 'Hold it like this- and then you kind of roll it fast- You see those sticks propped up over there-' Oh. By Aule. He thought he was beginning to understand why there were orc heads everywhere.

Oin was one of the last he found out. He was also fairly sure no one else knew of this particular dwarf's odd habit, though circumstances would mean even if everybody knew they still wouldn't know that anybody other than themselves did. ...Oin was practically deaf in one ear. He couldn't hear well even with his ear trumpet. The dwarf mistook every single word you said sometimes, often causing you great embarrassment with some of his...'mishearings'. Dain had watched others attempting to hold conversation with him before, it could be exhausting to observe...also rather amusing if you weren't fond of the victim and Oin was feeling particularly deaf that day. Dain often wished he could ignore and mishear some of the more irritating dwarves like that too. But he couldn't. Oin couldn't hear properly, but Dain could and had no excuse. Or at least, it was a taken fact that Oin couldn't hear right. After seeing an admittedly exceedingly annoying dwarf spend half an hour trying to give Oin an update on the trade between lake town and Erebor which the dwarf was responsible for, Dain had been in rather high spirits, and had asked Oin if he wished to accompany him to the kitchens. The dwarf had agreed. It had taken almost a minute for it to reach Dain's mind that he had heard the question perfectly well, from across the room, and without a hearing trumpet in sight. His facial expression must have told of his thoughts, because immediately Oin had rounded on him. 'Tell a soul and they won't find the body.'

His cousin had never shown any really strange tendencies before he went on the quest to reclaim Erebor, now though...the madness of the rest of them might have rubbed off on Thorin. It seemed there were little changes in the way Thorin thought, the things he said and did and the way he did them. He was a good king though, for all the new differences. Almost everyone was happy under his reign. Almost everyone. There was always the odd idiot out to kill the king, no matter how good a king they were and no matter which kingdom you were in. Thorin could look after himself. Dain had been in the room when an assassination was attempted. He saw. He saw the dwarf with the knife, he saw the assassin and gave the shout, and he saw Thorin beat the bastard into the ground with a frying pan. ...Strange choice of weapon...where had he even been keeping it...? Scary...and oddly majestic... Bilbo had walked in from where he had been standing in the doorway then, jumping over the body on the ground. 'What have I told you about that back-swing? Like this, not like that, less power that way-'

Thorin was most unpredictable when the hobbit was concerned: Bilbo Baggins appeared to bring out the madness in all of the company. The hobbit was a dangerous creature for all his appearance would lead you to believe, and was quite mad indeed. Mad Baggins. Him and Thorin had become good friends, rather inseparable. Where you found one you found the other. If the hobbit was in the library the king would turn up there at some point or another, if Thorin had to sit in the throne room and do kingly stuff the hobbit would most likely be standing by his side through whatever meeting it may be. Like when the elves came bearing a gift to the king to celebrate the signing of the peace agreement between their races. Dain watched the badly constructed expression of forced gratitude disappear from his cousin's face as the elves left out of sight. 'Bilbo.' Thorin passed the rather hideous elvish vase that had been gifted over to the hobbit. 'What are you going to do with that terrible piece of elvish decour, cousin? Hide it away in the deepest parts of the mont-' SMASH! Dain's head snapped to where the hobbit stood grinning. He gaped in shock. 'I like smashing things,' The hobbit told Dain excitedly. 'I destroyed every breakable object in my house before I left, with a bit of help of course.' Dain turned to Thorin, who seemed unbothered by what the hobbit had done and gave a level look and a nod. 'He is good at smashing things.'

Dain continued to stare. That had been a gift of peace. ...But then he supposed the elves would never know... 'Would you like to smash something?' The hobbit's voice cut though his thoughts. Then Thorin spoke, 'You're more than welcome to next time, Bilbo wouldn't mind, would you Bilbo?' 'Not at all.' They looked to Dain.

Well...if you couldn't beat them...and he most certainly couldn't...

Aule help him.

'Of course, why not...'

Mad indeed.


End file.
